


Cupiditatem

by Allekha



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-07 09:51:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14078265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/pseuds/Allekha
Summary: A free sample leads to Yuri not being quite in his right mind when he finds Yuuri in the bathroom at Sochi. Yuuri isn't quite, either.





	Cupiditatem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



Yuri's entrance to the Grand Prix Final was impeded by a young woman waving a bottled drink in his face. "Free sample, sir?"

He was pretty adept at ignoring people trying to shove fliers and samples down his throat, but they usually weren't as aggressive as this woman was, nor were their grins usually as unnaturally cheerful as hers was. "Sure," he said, more to get her out of his way than anything. He had a competition to catch.

"Which flavor would you prefer, sir?" She pulled a second bottle out of nowhere and held them both out. One was vaguely beige, like extra-milky coffee; the other was solid black. He picked the black one. She produced a third bottle, another black one, this time out of the cooler at her feet. "An extra for our junior champion, hm?" She winked at him.

Flattered at being recognized, even though he'd pulled his hood up and wrapped a scarf around his face, he took the second sample of whatever it was that she was selling.

...she better not be one his crazy fans. But when he finally got to his seat and checked social media, there was nothing new on there about his whereabouts. Good.

The drinks claimed to be full of protein, and they were surprisingly light on the sugar according to the label. Yuri twisted the first one open, before he got distracted by the competitors coming out to warm up on the ice. The other Yuri – Yuuri, as some people on Twitter insisted on spelling it – popped his first attempt at a jump, but then landed the next one, a triple axel. Nice. Yuri was definitely rooting for him.

Victor was usually in serious mode by this point, but he did spare a wave in Yuri's direction as he passed at one point. Members of the crowd nearby laughed and called Victor's name; Yuri didn't wave back.

The drink tasted a little bit like peanuts. Kind of a weird texture, but not bad. Yuri was most of the way through it by the time it was Yuuri's turn to skate.

He didn't remember to down the rest of it until a long while afterward. Damn, it was one thing to watch one of his Juniors rivals fall apart on the ice. It was another to watch someone actually interesting struggle through several falls, leap into a brilliant step sequence, limp through the last jumping passes with the crowd trying to cheer him on (didn't help with the under-rotations), before moving into one final, elegant spin and taking his bows. He looked so frustrated, like he was holding back furious tears with all the determination he had left.

Yuri wanted to talk to him, all of a sudden. Wanted to see what kind of guy it was that could get through a program like that with the good parts intact and not be sobbing in the kiss-and-cry. It was suddenly very hard to wait through the rest. He didn't care about seeing Victor's program for the nth time this season, or Crispino's attempt at _Carmen_ (who the hell still picked _Carmen_ for their music in this day and age?). Yuri fidgeted in place. Opened his second drink when he'd finished the first. 

When he was able to escape after the last skater was done – oh hey look, Victor had won, what a surprise, with Giacometti in second, wow – he set about finding Yuuri. He had to be somewhere in the backstage area, and it wasn't long before Yuri had sighted him turning a corner, then disappearing into a side bathroom. Yuri waited for him to come out, and as he did so, he pulled the zipper of his jacket down and batted at his hair. Why was it so hot in here? It was winter in Russia, this was an _ice arena_ , they didn't need to turn on the heat so high. Or the lights on so bright.

Irritated, he gave up on waiting for him. He wasn't sure how long he'd been in there, but Yuri strode right in. It was still hot in here, too; Yuri pulled again at his jacket, at the shirt he was wearing underneath, but it barely helped. What was he doing again? Right, Yuuri: Yuri squinted and looked around. Nothing. He could hear someone breathing, though. It had to be Yuuri; this place was kind of out of the way, so nobody else would be here. The breathing even sounded like him.

Not that Yuri knew what Yuuri's breathing sounded like. But it did.

It was coming from one of the stalls. Why was he still in there? It had been forever. It didn't sound like he was even doing anything in there. Just breathing. Steady. In, out, in, out. Yuri listened in fascination for a minute, before he remembered that he was here on a mission.

Fine. If Yuuri wouldn't come out, Yuri would make him come out. He shifted his weight and prepared to kick the door, always a guaranteed method of attracting attention.

Only, as he lifted his heel, he lost his balance. He swayed sideways and was barely able to catch himself on the sinks. Weird – he never got this dizzy. He hadn't overbalanced that badly, had he? He tried to straighten up, but the room was still spinning.

Yuri cursed softly. Hot, dizzy – and he could _feel_ his concentration slipping, too. What the hell had he caught?

Maybe if he splashed his face a bit, he could at least focus long enough to... Yakov? No, he wanted to talk to Yuuri....

One of the doors behind him quietly opened. In the mirror, Yuri drew his eyes off of his flushed cheeks and onto the figure of Yuuri emerging from the stall. He looked kind of ill, too, his face a little pink. "Oh," he said after a moment of them staring at each other, his voice rougher than Yuri had thought it would be. "You're Yuri Plisetsky."

Yes, he _was_. Yuri turned around to say something, but completely forgot what as the room went liquidy around him. "You," he settled for, as he scrambled at the ceramic behind him. 

Yuuri looked different off the ice. Not so confident. More geeky, more plain. Like he was hiding in his jacket. Yuri couldn't decide if the glasses were a good look for him or not.

"Are you alright?" Yuuri asked, peering at him.

No, he wasn't, but he didn't want to say that. He wanted to – he'd come here to talk to Yuuri. About... Yuri closed his eyes and _made_ his brain co-operate. Skating. His skating. Right. See what kind of person this guy sharing his name was. "I'm fine," he said, but Yuuri took a couple of steps closer anyway, his surprised look slowly morphing into one of concern. "I wanted to... your skating. It was great." Not elegant at all; he couldn't seem to remember any specifics, though. An image flashed in his head, from Yuuri's choreo sequence, the arch of his neck when he threw his head back to a dramatic beat of the music. Yuri's eyes slipped to his neck now, wondering what that would look like from up close, the line of his throat.

"Um." Yuuri took another step closer, then stopped to fidget with his glasses. "Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"I'm _fine_ ," Yuri snapped, and to prove it, he closed the distance between them. Or tried to; the sudden movement made the room swim, and his balance went completely shot. Yuuri caught him when he stumbled, and Yuri cursed again on realizing how much he needed the steadying arm around him, the hand on his shoulder. What the hell was going on?

Yuuri touched his cheek. It was warm, too, but it left a trail of cool as his fingers skimmed away. Yuri found himself trying to turn into the touch as he left; he stopped as soon as he realized it, and tried to stem the rush of embarrassment. He didn't have to act like a sick kid in need of their parents to coddle them. "I think you have a fever," said Yuuri. "Uh, why don't we try to cool you off a bit, and I can make sure you get back to your coach? Or I could call him?"

Yuri was feeling a bit better already, actually, but he let Yuuri steer him back towards the sinks and run some water because at least, now, Yuuri's attention was on him. "Your jumps suck," he said now that he could think a little more clearly, and Yuuri stiffened beside him. "But the rest of it's awesome."

"Okay?" Yuuri wet a paper towel and held it out. Yuri pressed it to his face. It was unpleasant. He would have thought that the cold would feel good, but it was more like putting his face to the ice. Far too cold. Too wet and sticky. He drew it away with a grimace, and saw that Yuuri was doing the same with another paper towel beside him.

"If you had better music, you'd get PCS at least as good as Victor's," Yuri said. "Or you _should_." God forbid the scoring system actually work fairly.

"Sure," Yuuri said, in a voice that suggested he was humoring him. Yuri scowled and opened his mouth to say – something about how Victor didn't have to be on the top of everything ever, maybe, or how Yuuri should pick cool music, he could roll with it, instead of that boring over-used piece he'd had for his FS – only another wave of heat washing over him shut him up.

Argh. He felt like he was melting, thoughts leaving his brain as he leaned back over the sink. For a moment, he could barely understand what he saw when he looked up in the mirror; everything was out of focus, and then he could see his eyes, and then there was Yuuri leaning closer again. Leaning away. Yuri didn't have the energy to try and chase after him, though he wanted to.

A piercing sound suddenly began to echo through the room. Yuri tried not to throw up from another wave of hot and heat flowing from his toes to his head, as Yuuri scrambled from his phone. He was saying something, but Yuri couldn't understand. Hopefully because it was Japanese.

By the time the heat had abated a bit, leaving Yuri flushed, with sweat dripping down his cheek, and trying not to tremble, he could see that Yuuri was frowning at his phone. He asked, slowly, "Did you get one of those free drinks they were handing out outside?"

Yuri swallowed against his dry mouth. Maybe some water.... "Yeah."

"The black sesame one?"

"Two," Yuri said. Black sesame, whatever that was. It'd been black. He ducked to drink from the faucet. When he came up, Yuuri was still frowning at his phone. Had his cheeks been that red before? "What?"

"I just got an email, it says the black sesame ones were contaminated with..." Yuri had no idea whatever word it was that he said next. Yuuri glanced up at him, and, perhaps seeing his confusion, clarified: "It says it's usually known as, ah, sex pollen."

"Oh." _Oh_. Yuri knew that one. Everything made sense now. "Did you?"

"I only had about half of mine." Yuuri looked at his phone, frowned a little deeper, then put it away. "I guess I should take you back to your coach now." He didn't quite look at Yuri, except in little glances. Like he couldn't resist them.

"Seriously? No way." Yuri was smaller than Yuuri, he'd had more... but Yuuri couldn't be unaffected, either. Not with how he looked. So they _could_ sit around until it wore off, but screw that. Not when there was an obviously better solution.

He felt awful, but now that he knew what was going on, something in him said that if he touched Yuuri, everything would be better. Cooler. Steadier. And Yuri was going to get that relief. _Now_.

So he launched himself forward before Yuuri could try to reason him back to Yakov. Didn't quite make it with the kiss he'd been aiming for, but Yuuri stumbled with his momentum. Yuri could feel him flailing but who cared, this was already better, _this_ was what he'd needed, some of the damn heat finally abating.

Yuuri tried to break the kiss even as his arms locked around Yuri, hauling him in. The effect was that they both tumbled back into the stall, and nearly to the floor before Yuuri caught them. Yuuri blinked down at Yuri when they righted themselves. "How old are—"

Yuri growled and shut him up with a kiss. It didn't matter, this – oh, man, this was so, so much better. He could _feel_ the stupid fog lifting off his brain.

He kissed Yuuri again, shoving them together, searching for his skin under his jacket and shirt. Whenever his fingers touched new skin, it was like magic, something cool pouring down his spine, only making him want more, more, more.

A hand on his shoulder suddenly pushed them apart, though Yuri tried to squirm out of its grip and go back to the touching. "Are you...." Yuuri started to ask, though now it was _his_ voice that was dazed, _his_ eyes that were going glassy and unfocused. Yuri knew he'd had the best idea. "Okay," Yuuri said slowly. "But not so fast."

Whatever. As long as he got to put his fingers back on Yuuri's toned stomach and trace the muscles. As long as he got to work Yuuri's thigh back between his own and rub against it, when had he gotten so hard, oh that felt good – and now Yuuri was kissing him back. Not so fast, he'd said, and the kisses he gave were not so bruising. Didn't make them any less hot, though, especially when he twisted his fingers in Yuri's hair and pulled a little to get the right angle. Yuri could feel heat rushing through his face again, but this was a good heat, one that spurred him on rather than overwhelming.

He rocked against Yuuri's thigh again – and it was a good thigh – but then Yuuri did _something_ with his tongue that Yuri had never had anyone else do before, and it was too much. Not enough, rather. He couldn't take it any more, the heat and the cold, and he drew one hand away from Yuuri to fumble at the fastening of his pants.

It felt good to pull himself out, even if the bathroom air was too cold, even if he was still half rubbing up against Yuuri even as he tried to find relief by touching. Dammit, his hand had always been enough, why wasn't it this time, why did this feel so weird, not exactly pleasurable? Stupid sex pollen.

He tried to grab Yuuri's hand and push it down instead. Yuuri resisted, his brows furrowing together, but Yuri pushed harder. Cursed at him. More reluctantly, finally said, " _Please._ " He needed all this pressure to go away, he needed to come, preferably right this minute.

"Here," Yuuri said, twisting his arm to a different angle, and then he wrapped his fingers around Yuri's dick, gently, as though he was afraid of hurting him or something. But Yuri could hardly complain; this touch felt amazing, better than his hand had ever been – every soft touch as Yuuri slowly stroked him, once, twice, and Yuri shut his eyes and pushed into his shoulder. "Is this—" 

The whine Yuri made as he came made his throat hurt. He collapsed, shuddering, against Yuuri. The warmth of his body was comforting, like it was easing all the stupid temperature imbalances in Yuri's.

Only for a few moments, though, before they started trickling back. The urge to shove himself in Yuuri's skin, too, and have Yuuri in every part of him, that was coming back with his awareness. At least he'd gotten a little relief from them.

He could think a bit more, too. Could put together the controlled but still fast breathing against his hair, the arm wrapped firmly around his back, Yuuri's dick pressing into his stomach – not just him, then.

"That was fast," Yuuri mumbled.

"Shut up."

"You did drink a lot more of it." Yuuri shifted, not pushing Yuri off, but bringing his hand up. "Let me just...."

No way was Yuri letting go of him for that long. He grabbed Yuuri's hand and tugged it over. Yuuri shut up very quickly and went very wide-eyed when Yuri licked it. Ugh. The taste of come was still unpleasant. Couldn't sex pollen make all of this enjoyable? But he still had Yuuri's attention. More than that. Yuuri's breathing sped up as Yuri drew his tongue over his palm, wrapped his mouth over each finger where necessary, and he swallowed audibly.

Yuri hadn't thought that finger-sucking was erotic, but here they were. Or maybe Yuuri had a thing for it. Or maybe it was the sex pollen. (Yuri was fine with blaming a lot of things on the sex pollen.) Whatever. He paused to suck on the back of Yuuri's hand, and then he let go. He was mostly hard again already. Another round – all sorts of possibilities floated in his head of what else they could do, all them heated and fast and better than any porn he'd seen.

Yuuri touched his jaw. And then it was like any restraint he'd had was gone. Yuri barely knew they'd moved before he was being pinned against the other side of the stall and kissed like it was going to earn Yuuri a gold medal, never mind the taste lingering in Yuri's mouth. He could barely breathe with Yuuri's weight on him, the angle his head had to tilt at given their heights, the tongue pressing against his, but that was okay.

Then there were lips on his jaw, on his neck, sucking. Yuri realized right then as Yuuri moved towards his collar that his jacket was too much, that it was too hot in here. The zipper came down easily; it was a little trickier to get it all the way off his arms, when Yuuri kept kissing him, but then he stopped for a moment to help.

Yuri meant to drop it to the floor. Yuuri caught it and hung it on the little hook on the stall door, then belatedly locked the door. Right. Public restroom. Whatever. If anyone heard them, they could fuck off again. Yuri was more interested in Yuuri taking off his own jacket and how well that t-shirt underneath fit him.

The metal of the stall wall was cold when Yuuri pressed him back to it. The flush had gone all the way down Yuuri's cheeks, down to his neck, and Yuri didn't entirely know what to make of his expression as he lifted Yuri's shirt up. He muttered something, but Yuri didn't understand. "What?"

"Sorry. _Cute_."

Yuri kicked him. "Not _cute_. I'm the junior champion of like, everything, I'm not—"

"Yes, yes," Yuuri said, looking entirely too amused. "But these are cute." And he pressed his thumbs against both of Yuri's nipples.

It had never felt like this when Yuri touched his own chest before. Was this sex pollen or did Yuuri just really know what he was doing because holy hell Yuri didn't want him to stop, and he didn't, kept pressing and rubbing. It tore noises from his throat that he didn't want to make.

"Shh." Yuuri kissed him again. To shut him up, maybe. And didn't stop touching. Yuri had been about to kick him again about the _cute_ comments but maybe he could be forgiven if he kept this up.

"More," Yuri demanded when Yuuri's mouth left his. Yuuri was touching him and they were both pressed right up against the wall and Yuri had both arms around him but it suddenly wasn't satisfying enough. Yuuri just went back to kissing him. And that was better, but not – Yuri didn't know what else he wanted.

He felt Yuuri rubbing against him. Hey, maybe if he returned the favor – that was how sex worked, right, everybody had to come the same number of times or it didn't work – then Yuuri would make him come again and his brain would shut up for a while. By fucking him or blowing him or or or he didn't care.

So he worked one hand between them and touched. Yuuri jumped and broke their kiss to lean their foreheads together. He was so hot but it still felt good, better than the cold metal on Yuri's back. "Harder," he said. So Yuri squeezed, and watched Yuuri's eyes squeeze shut behind his glasses.

Huh. He'd never – this had always seemed like a favor to him, a thing people did for each other just because it was better than jerking off alone, but he could see how Yuuri's face changed as Yuri rubbed him, feel how the weight leaning into him shifted. How his breath picked up. He'd never known that it could feel like this getting someone else off. Like he was the one in charge here.

The only thing was that it reminded him that nobody was touching _his_ dick, now. So when Yuuri started working at his own pants, Yuri did his best to get his own off as fast as possible – shit, he had to do shoes first. Dammit. Shoes then pants and underwear and who cared about socks.

Yuuri shoved them back against the wall and went back to kissing him. The way that it pressed their dicks together made Yuri moan, especially when Yuuri wrapped a hand around them both. It was better, more contact, more... whatever that part in the back of his head that currently wanted to drown in Yuuri wanted. 

But it wasn't perfect. They weren't lined up as well as they could have been – Yuuri wasn't stupidly tall like Victor or Georgi, but he was still too tall. And they weren't touching as much as possible. Yuri had a great idea for how to fix both of those problems.

Turned out to be kind of impossible to do by himself – what was he supposed to do, jump? – but some gesturing and a few snarled words when he could remember how words worked got Yuuri to put his hands under Yuri's thighs and help lift him up. Yuri wrapped his legs around his hips and held on tight with one arm, and it seemed secure enough. 

This was definitely better. More Yuuri, no more neck pain when they kissed again. He could tell that he was shifting a little when he touched the both of them with his other hand and Yuuri rocked into the grip, but it didn't feel like he was about to fall. Were all figure skaters strong enough to do this and not drop him, or was it just Yuuri? All that muscle pressed against him – he hadn't looked so muscular down on the ice. Maybe he needed better costumes.

Yuri's hand was smaller, but he tried to make up for it by stroking them faster. Did whatever made Yuuri's face twist more, or kiss him harder – Yuri could barely even feel his lips any more but he kept letting Yuuri in, over and over. Did whatever felt good for himself.

It could have lasted forever. Yuri thought it was going to end when Yuuri broke off the endless kisses to bury his face in the crook of his neck, but he still didn't come. Yuri, though – maybe it was the way Yuuri's breath tickled his neck or maybe it was the fingers gripping his thighs harder or maybe he'd just been jerking them for long enough, because he curled harder into Yuuri and came.

Some of the come hit his chin. Yuri didn't have the presence of mind to care. He just clung to Yuuri, clung like this was a pairs lift far more dangerous than getting pinned to a bathroom wall.

When he came back to himself, he felt blank. The heat was gone, leaving only the chill still lingering in the metal wall; so was that overwhelming desire that had been pushing and pushing. But there was Yuuri. So Yuri stroked him and didn't think and held on to him when Yuuri finally came against his stomach, just in case, but Yuuri didn't let go.

The room was entirely too silent, afterward. Yuuri slowly let Yuri down – his legs ached, but given a moment, they held him. Yuuri cleaned his fogged-up glasses, and when he put them back on, he didn't look at Yuri. "Um," he said. He voice was dry. "Let me—" And he got redressed and darted from the stall, only to come back with a damp paper towel. He didn't seem sure if he should help or not. Yuri wasn't sure if he wanted him to help or not. They stared at each other for a long moment – or at least Yuri did, Yuuri was looking off to the side – before Yuri swiped the paper towel and started to clean up.

He felt – empty, still. Hot, but only in the sense that his blush hadn't died down yet. A bit sleepy.

...it had been good, though. Yuri was pretty sure he was going to be replaying this memory for the next six months.

"Are you okay?" Yuuri asked once he'd gotten dressed.

"Fine." Yuuri still wasn't looking at him. "What's your problem?"

There, that did it. "My prob– I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?"

"No? You jerked me off _twice_ when I got sex pollened by that stupid drink, that's more than okay, dumbass."

"Oh," said Yuuri, quiet.

"Better you than anybody else who skated tonight," Yuri added, before he'd really thought it through, and he ducked his head to ignore the look Yuuri sent him. His face was too hot. It was going to be all red, stupid pale skin. He left his jacket unzipped and brushed past Yuuri to go splash water on his face again. It was nice, this time, soothing.

The door to the restroom banged open. Yuri jumped so hard he nearly hit his head on the faucet, and he heard Yuuri make a soft noise somewhere nearby. "Yura?" Oh, it was just Victor. "Yura, where have you – are you okay?"

Yuuri handed him yet another paper towel. Yuri pressed it to his face so he could see again without water dripping in his eyes when he turned around. "Didn't feel well."

"You should have said." Yuri lowered the paper towel; Victor was right in front of him already. "Yakov's been worried sick wondering where you went off to. Do you have a fever? I think we have something to—"

"Stop babying me," Yuri said, brushing Victor's hand away when it tried to descend on his forehead. "I'm feeling better now. He made sure I'm okay. I can take something myself if I need to when we get back."

Victor looked over at Yuuri and turned on his smile. "You're, ah, the other Yuuri, right? From Japan?"

"Yes," Yuuri said faintly. And now his attention was totally on Victor. Of course it was. That was how things tended to go when Victor was around.

"Thanks for taking care of him!" Victor slid an arm around his shoulders; Yuri did not succeed in shrugging it off. "I hope he didn't yell at you too much. I know he can get kind of tetchy sometimes."

Yuri rolled his eyes. But he was pleased when Yuuri looked at him again, at least. "No," said Yuuri. "He was fine. I hope you feel better."

Yuri let Victor steer him out of the restroom, away from Yuuri, but tuned out his babbling. He bit his lip. It hurt, like the skin was bruised from all those kisses.

He hoped Yuuri would show up at the banquet. Yuri still hadn't gotten to talk to him about skating properly. (And sex pollen or no, his mind wouldn't shut up about all of those unexplored possibilities, about how they'd be nicer explored on a bed instead of against a cold wall.)


End file.
